I have been writing songs of late. On the guitar. I sing them. I'm pretty excited about it.
I'm coming to NYC this weekend for my feature at The Nuyorican on Friday night. I'm thinking about doing it in costume. I haven't really been able to get into Halloween this year, which will probably bother me in retrospect more than it does right now.
The witch told me to live with the earth, not with people. I take that partially to mean live with the earth, partially to mean live with art. If your work hurts your feelings, you know it's your fault. At least you have a little more control over it than you do over another person. You can manipulate it without feeling bad. That's what you're supposed to do. You're its creator, not its friend.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
More pictures are up on Facebook, but I just felt I had to ask if any brilliant photographers have done a series of photographs from El Station platforms in Chicago? Cuz...
One of the trains I was on passed Wrigley Field. A game had just gotten out, and for a moment I was back in Boston, scrunched in a Green Line car at Kenmore, except here we were elevated and the fans were all dressed in blue instead of red. They all looked dour. An old man who had been riding the train called out to a young woman wearing a Cubs jersey who boarded across from him. "Who won?" he asked. She looked at him. "Who do you think?" she said. The old man shook his head, looked down, and sighed.
Also, the Kapoor mirror ball thing in Millennium park is, for lack of a better term, a ball.
Monday, October 12, 2009
In bed for a few days with what is most likely H1N1. The entire bridal party and most of the people my age came down with chills and coughing (some puking) at the reception on Saturday. I went back to my parents' house with a 103 degree fever. I haven't felt that sick since I had food poisoning.
But regardless, it was one of the most beautiful weddings I've ever been to. Amber looked absolutely stunning, just like a 20s movie star.
Two shows in New England this week. Thursday is The After Nine Poetry Series at the Hotel Vernon in Worcester, MA. Friday is Slam Free or Die in at the Bridge Cafe in Manchester, NH.
Mark at Slam Free or Die was really excited about the flyer they made for me. They used original artwork from Sin City, and he said he found a picture that looked "just like me." Usually when someone says that, I get a little nervous, because when I see the picture it either looks nothing like me, or looks like all the parts of myself that I hate. But check this out.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
My clothes smell like the dogs and cats of 12 different houses. I have sold out of books. Amber's wedding is today. Home tomorrow.
I have learned:
1. College kids buy the most books, unless they live in a vegan co-op.
2. I really like living in Cambridge.
3. All of Amber's friends are awesome. It makes sense.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
In Cincinnati I read for a gallery full of students who treat me like a real writer. I can see in these faces that they are ready for a new verse. They respond astoundingly to my performance. They have never seen anything like this, and I want to say, I am only bringing a fraction of what I am a part of back home. That there are so many others like me writing urgently and modernly who would blow you away if you could see them. Most people now read the poetry of dead people, so they think poetry is dead, or at least unrelatable. I feel so fortunate that I am part of a small group of people bringing poetry into the Internet Age.
I meet other writers who are young and full of flames and we trade books. Then at a reading in Indianapolis a woman wearing a jade necklace comes up to me and tells me she is a seer. She says I have a male presence following me and he is perhaps a very minor influence in my work. I ask her if he's a spirit, like as in a dead person, or something else. She shrugs. Tells me she's not sure, but she thinks he's been with me since I was young. That he became intrigued with my talent at an early age and has followed me, though she's not sure how much time he spends with me. Her first idea was that he is a writer of the past, but she's not sure about that part.
If that's true, I hope he's not someone too crazy. And I kind of wish he'd talk to me once in a while so I wouldn't feel so lonely all the time. I guess I've always been too cerebral for those types of conversations.